“Why would they do such an awful thing?” She made a note to make certain Griffin never took part in such behavior. She could always break his arms if he tried.

“Because they’re rich and bored, and their parents are closely related.”

Mila didn’t understand, but she grinned because her companion was smiling and seemed to expect it.

At the top of the stairs they turned right and then continued to the second door down the corridor. Mrs. Rhodes withdrew a punch card from a pocket in her gown and inserted it in the slot beside the door. There followed a series of clicks as the lock disengaged. “This card will get you into the house, as well, so take care you don’t lose it.”

“I’ll be very careful.”

She opened the door and stepped inside, flicking a switch on the wall to turn on the new modern lights. Mila stepped in behind her, and gasped.

The room wasn’t as ornate as the one she had at Jack’s, but it suited her better. The walls were painted a soft sandy color, with creamy trim. The bed was large, the wood dark but simply carved as it reached upward to form a canopy high above the mattress. Gauzy lengths of fabric draped around it from a finial in the middle of the top frame. It was like something a princess would sleep in. There was a matching dresser, armoire and dressing table, as well.

“There’s a water closet through that door,” Mrs. Rhodes said with a gesture. “You’ll share it with Henrietta and Millie, whose room is located on the other side of it.”

“They share a room?”

The woman’s expression changed ever so slightly—as though she wasn’t certain what to say. “Yes. They’re sisters, and very unique, as well. I’m sure you’ll get on quite well with them. All my girls are extraordinary.”

“I don’t want to be extraordinary,” she remarked, hoping she didn’t sound whiny. “I just want to be like everyone else.”

“Oh, my dear girl.” Mrs. Rhodes’ expression was caught between amusement and sympathy. “I don’t believe that’s possible.”

Chapter Nine

“How do you plan to get around the automatons?”

Finley glanced at Ipsley. They were hiding in some overblown shrubbery cut and shaped to resemble Garibaldi himself. It was ridiculous. He was easier for her to see now, her eyes accustomed to his shadowy form. “I don’t,” she replied.

“You...don’t?”

She shook her head, turning her attention back to Garibaldi’s ridiculously large house. “That’s what he expects. It’s why they’re there. He’s not stupid, but he thinks we are. He’s too arrogant to put his safety and security completely in the hands of his creations—demon or machine. Their job is to preoccupy and deflect any attacks while he mounts his own defensive. A diversion so he can have the pleasure of doing the real damage.”

“But how are we going to get inside?”

“Can’t you just pop in?” That was part of the reason he was there, wasn’t it? Because he could travel quicker than she could, and go places she couldn’t?

“My connection with His Grace allows me to feel his presence, but transporting myself to him is almost impossible. I’m not sure what Garibaldi has done, but it’s as though he’s used some sort of Aetheric dampener. Trying to make contact is like trying to use a magnet to attract glass. I cannot get His Grace to acknowledge me.”

Finley sighed. Why couldn’t Garibaldi be less intelligent? Why did he have to be both evil and a genius? So much for avoiding the automatons altogether. Without the element of surprise they weren’t going to get very far. She was definitely up for a fight, but not if it made things worse for Griffin.

“I’m going to climb up the side of the house to the room Griffin is in. Can you do that?”

“Perhaps. My current form has no mass in this realm, but that also means my tangibility is questionable.”

“What if you popped up once I made it to the room? You can still get a fix on me, can’t you?”

It wasn’t often that Finley got to enjoy the look of someone who thought she was smart. It wasn’t that she was dumb, but with Griffin and Emily around it was next to impossible to look intelligent in comparison. Usually her smarts pointed in a different direction. Granted, a more underhanded and violent direction, but it was no less effective. She’d wager Emily didn’t know the exact amount of force it took for a punch to break ribs without puncturing the lungs. Or how much stress an arm could take before it snapped. It was a delicate balance that changed with every opponent.

“Yes. The dampener seems to be focused exclusively on the duke. I should be able to meet you when you get to the room.”

“Good. If the metal or ghosts start patrolling I’m going to need you to create a diversion.”

“Of course. I’ve got your back.”

In the physical realm Finley had to admit that she wouldn’t feel exactly confident with Ipsley as her backup. She doubted the dear boy even knew how to throw a punch, but that didn’t matter here. Here, Ipsley was more powerful than she could ever hope to be.

“Right, here I go, then.” Crouched low, she darted from the hedge where they had hidden and raced toward the mansion. It was a strange feeling, running without feeling an increase in her heart rate, or the in and out of her breath. She was dead, for all intents and purposes, and the dead didn’t breathe or have a pulse. And yet, she had to climb the house because she had no other idea of how to get to where Griffin was. She certainly couldn’t just wish herself by his side the way Ipsley should have been able to do—her mind didn’t allow for that sort of thing.

However, her mind knew full well her physical capabilities, and she capitalized on that confidence. Her foot came up on a lower windowsill and she vaulted up, catching hold of a low balcony. She easily pulled herself up and then hopped up onto the balustrade. From there she easily found another handhold in the brick. It was as easy as scaling King House.

Suspicion teased the edges of her mind. What if she was walking into a trap? Surely a man as smart as The Machinist would have made his fortress difficult to climb? What if Garibaldi was omnipotent in this realm and already knew what she was going to do before she did? What if she got to that room and Griffin wasn’t there? Or worse, what if The Machinist had already destroyed him, leaving just enough of him for her to find?

She paused, and for a moment, entertained the thought of running back to Ipsley, but then she continued her climb. Fear was sometimes a good thing, but not in this case. She shoved it aside, tightened her grip on the stone and pulled. Garibaldi was smart in the same way that Griffin and Emily were smart. He could easily suppose what action people would take. He was not, however, a physical being. He might expect someone like her or Sam to start a fight, to punch their way in, but he wouldn’t expect someone to climb his house barehanded. He was probably prepared for a dirigible assault, but she’d wager the windows weren’t even locked.

Eventually, she made it to the window. It took a bit of a shove to open it as it was—surprisingly—latched. That was the extent of the security. She didn’t even see something to rouse an alarm if the window was opened.

So, maybe Garibaldi wasn’t so smart after all, because Finley was pretty certain even she could come up with something better than an ordinary latch.

She slipped her legs over the windowsill and slipped into the room. It was austere—like a hospital ward only not as inviting. She wouldn’t keep an animal in this place. There was one window, a bare lightbulb, and a huge machine near the bed from which wires and tubes ran. The engine hummed, vibrating through the floor so that she could feel it in the soles of her feet.

There was an old bed, and Griffin was strapped to it. She ran to him, falling hard on her knees beside the bed. She grabbed his hand—the manacle around his wrist had left bruises.

He looked awful. He looked as though he’d been gone days rather than hours. Stubble covered his jaw, and his thick hair was an unruly mess. There were dark circles beneath his eyes. Still, he was the finest thing Finley had ever seen. Tears burned her eyes and she didn’t care to stop them from falling.

“Griffin,” she whispered, before pressing her lips to his.

His eyelashes fluttered, then opened. His familiar gaze was cloudy and unfocused. That was when she noticed the wires connected to his head and chest. And there were runes etched into the irons that held him—runes much like those tattooed on his skin as well as her own. He’d used them—and ink made from Organites to help bind the two sides of her personality. Garibaldi used them now in some sort of incantation to imprison him, and probably drain him of power.

“Fin?”

Tears spilled down her cheeks as she set her cheek against his chest. “You’re alive.”

“For now,” came the hoarse whisper. “Fin, you can’t be here.”

Her head jerked up, tears drying up. “Don’t you dare start in on that nonsense. I’m here to save you, Griffin King, and I’m not leaving the Aether without you.”

“He’s locked me here. I can’t escape. I can’t even summon the Aether. He’s won.”

“Don’t say that.”

“As long as he has me, he won’t bother you.”

“You’re an idiot,” she informed him. “And I am so pissed at you for asking me to leave you. How dare you! Aside from that, Garibaldi will come for each of us before he’s done with you, just to make you suffer a little bit longer.”

“I know, but if you leave me it will give you more time to prepare, to figure out how to beat him.”

“Bollocks. This ends now. I don’t care how we have to do it, but I didn’t die just to have you tell me to give up. Am I making myself perfectly clear?”

A faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “I’ve missed you.”

No more tears. They’d had their chance. “I miss you, too.”

“How did you get here? You didn’t really die, did you?”

It would be an absurd conversation under different circumstances. “Tesla suit—with some modifications. How do I get you out of these restraints?”

“He’s using my own abilities against me. Remove the connections from my head and chest and the shackles should open themselves.”

Finley reached up to remove the wires from his head. The first one came away with blood on it. “Griffin...” Her stomach rolled.

The connectors were in him.

“I know,” he whispered. “Just do it, love.”

Fingers trembling, she pulled another free—and saw him wince. “I can’t do this.”

“You can,” he insisted. “If you want to free me you have to. It’s not that bad. Keep going.”

He was a horrible liar, but one thing he said was true—if she wanted to free him she had to do this. When she got a hold of Garibaldi she was going to kick his arse so hard he’d spend the rest of eternity spinning in circles. Gritting her teeth, she reached for another wire, and then another and another.

Finally, she had removed them all. Just as Griffin predicted the shackles clicked open. It was her turn to wince when she saw his battered ankles and wrists. Blood trickled down his na**d chest and dripped down his face. She wiped at the sticky mess with the sheet from the bed.

“I want to kiss you but we have to leave,” he said. “Now.”

She stood and helped him off the bed. He was so weak he had to lean on her. She had carried him before and didn’t mind doing so again, but the sight of him weakened cut deep into the meat of her. They made their way toward the window, where Ipsley suddenly appeared.

“Good to see you, Your Grace,” he said. “Miss Jayne, I found someone—”

“Later,” she cut him off. “Garibaldi has to know we’re here by now.” No sooner had the words left her mouth than the door to the room flew open and in walked the man himself.

In life Garibaldi had been a fairly attractive man of Italian descent with a metal hand and a mind ravaged by revenge and madness. In death he was perhaps even more handsome, but in a dark and sinister manner. He was dressed impeccably in a black frock coat, black trousers and black boots. Only his cravat had color and it was a dark, rich red.

“How wonderful,” he said, his voice deeper and louder than she remembered. “Guests! I must admit, I had hoped you would come but doubted you would be able to make such hopes a reality. Miss O’Brien is one intelligent little girl.”

Of course he would give all the credit to Emily. That was fine—Emily was brilliant. But didn’t Finley deserve some praise for being the one reckless enough to hop into a death suit and cross over to save the bloke she loved?

Oh, God. She loved Griffin. While not a new thought, the depth of meaning behind it finally hit her. She loved him. As in loved him more than her own life. Loved him more than biscuits or hot chocolate. She loved him so much that she’d risked her life for him and hadn’t even thought of how her own death might pain her mother and stepfather. She hadn’t thought of anything but saving him.

This puffed up rooster was not going to have him.

“Ipsley,” Finley said, not taking her eyes off Garibaldi. “Some help here.”

Before the medium could even reply, Garibaldi raised his hand and sent a blast of energy spiraling at him, knocking him out the window.

“Finley, run,” Griffin commanded, struggling to hold himself upright. His eyes began to glow faintly with blue power. It wasn’t going to be enough. He wasn’t strong enough to face The Machinist, and the villain had filled himself up on Griffin’s power.